Brandon ScanlonFirst things first, everyone go and block off July 12th on your calendars right now.That’s when the World Famous Osceola Hotel’s 42nd annual Turtle race will take place.Judging by this year’s 246 turtle entrants (which far exceeds the number of Osceola inhabitants), this spectacle is gaining international acclaim.Oh, Osceola, NY how truly memorable you were.Here are just a few of the highlights:

Turtle racing strategy was described to us with great enthusiasm.Each race competitor has their own method for getting their turtles to run fast; however, two of the most popular methods are tickling their bellies and leaving them upside down for a while before the race

The “World Famous Osceola Hotel” is actually a bar/restaurant that numerous colorful locals frequent.Apparently, the gentlemen who lives above the bar has a pet wolf and he insisted on describing its lineage to us in detail

Steve-O, an extremely inebriated local, spent much of the night howling loudly, playing “Happy” by Pharrell Williams, and being warned that if he didn’t quiet down he would be thrown out… until he was thrown out

Finally, the toll for camping behind this historic building was having to listen to a blaring church sermon on the radio all night long

Start training your turtles today

World famous

We came across this amazing town in New York after a beautiful descent out of the Adirondack Mountains where we spent two stress-free nights in North Hudson and Raquette Lake.These two picturesque and remote towns rejuvenated everyone’s spirits after the numerous days of climbing that we’d endured.

Rejuvenating yurt

Picturesque riding

In Fulton, near the eastern edge of Lake Ontario, Kellen almost hit a deer.Instead, an oncoming car hit and killed the dear before it jumped in front of Kellen.Miraculously, the car was undamaged.Mustering all of his mid-western charm, Kellen promptly got the young girls in the car to pose for a picture.They asked if the deer was alright… Kellen let them know it was NOT alright.

The car was ok; the deer was NOT ok

Continuing our trek across New York we remain humbled by the generosity of everyone we meet.Barbara, Cindy, Len and the other members of the Fulton Methodist Church were kind enough to invite us in for a BBQ diner and provide us with a place to sleep.We did our best to contribute by helping to clean up their historic church after the diner.After reaching the Erie Canal and camping along its banks in Palmyra, NY (where Mormonism started) we were lucky enough to encounter a fellow biker, Beth while biking along the canal.She helped guide us to a local bike shop so that Cory could get an extra tube and she ensured that we found a good place for lunch.Lastly, Ed in Medina helped guarantee that we had a safe place to camp during the approaching storm and even had his son deliver us a bottle of local wine for the night.

Evening lodging

Earning our stay

Cycling the historic Erie Canal

Other notable events from our travels through New York:

Bro-Tank: We completely forgot to take a picture with the semi-jacked Fulton high school kid wearing a tight, neon-colored tank top that read “Bro, do you even lift?”

Hot Wings Eating Challenge: Kellen was relegated to the Wall of Shame at Sodus Point’s Captain Jack’s restaurant after only eating 4 of the required 10 hot wings

Carrie is a machine: No matter how sore her back or knees are she just keeps plugging away.No whining, just powering through

Kellen’s Wardrobe Malfunctions: He gets overly concerned spilling on himself at meals; conversely, he voluntarily wears biking shorts with a hole in the butt… I don’t get it

Kellen said it was "the hottest thing he's ever eaten"

Wardrobe malfunction

Finally, after 620 miles and 10 straight days of riding we’ve reached our first big checkpoint: Niagara Falls, Ontario where we’re taking a rest day and enjoying the scenery.Sadly, for me this is the end of the road.I’ll be heading back to Boston to move out and flying to San Diego to find an apartment.While I’m disappointed to be missing the Michigan leg of the trip (my home state) I’m extremely grateful for the adventure I have had.Having never biked before I’ve learned that this is a great way to experience the world in an extremely intimate manner.I will definitely continue riding as I move out west.

Bikes over Niagara

Thanks to Kellen, Cory, and Carrie for such an incredible experience.But, most importantly, thank you to the countless people who’ve shown such generosity along our trip.Good luck, team as you continue your journey.I’ll religiously be reading your future posts.

Kellen SmetanaIt took two and a half days, but I finally had that thoroughly happy feeling of being back cycling again.We had finally left the Boston sprawl, truck routes, and commercial byways and were cruising along some rolling rural hills: barns and pastures on the left, small lake on the right, fresh air tickling the nostrils.I remembered why we keep doing it.This is fun.

This is fun.

Long before that moment, we had hefty to-do lists.Both Carrie and I had serious tune-ups to take the tour-beaten Long Haul Truckers from metal heaps and return them to homeostasis.Gromit (my bike) needed a new fork, cassette, chain, and bike computer, among other things.For those who followed during the Eurasian adventure, you may remember Cory’s bike was destroyed by the Kazakh desert “roads”; he ended up getting a sweet Safari from REI that looks like it will stand the test of time.Brandon, by contrast, agreed to join the trip the day before we left and consequently completely prepared – borrowing a bike, rebuilding it, buying up gear – in 8 hours on Sunday.Amazing work, and exactly the spirit we love.Plus, he’s been using this last minute kit to smoke us all on the climbs.

Calibrating the bike computer in the hallway

On Monday, June 2, 2014, we officially started our tour from Boston.We rode down to Boston harbor to touch our feet into the water so we could bring a few molecules of that all the way to the Pacific three months hence.This time we actually had a party of friends join to send us off with champagne!And, to top that, most of them rented Hubway bikes to ride the first five miles back to HBS campus with us.It was an awesome way to start!After the obligatory photos, it was time for the four amigos to set off on our own.

Touching our feet into the Atlantic

The Send-Off Party!

Biking back to campus

So far in the first five days we’ve had the cops called on us 2.5 times.The first encounter with the law was for trying to camp behind a Jehovah’s Witness Center on the first night.The second was from a teacher and his science class the next morning when they stumbled upon our tents in the high school baseball field (since we already had police approval, I’m only counting half a call…).The third was later that same day when I laid my bike in a woman’s front yard to chase down Cory because we both had flat tires and I had the only pump.The policeman arrived and promptly thanked me for keeping the bike off the road.We certainly had run-ins with the police on our last adventure, but at this pace the boys in blue will know our favorite ice cream flavor and high school crush in two weeks.I suppose one way to look at it is the negative side of a positive American tenet: private property rights.In Asia people couldn’t care less where we camped; here, ownership reigns supreme.And on the whole that is a good thing.We’ll just have to be cautious campers.

Reenactment of our police encounters

Our nightly accommodations have proven some of our most interesting encounters thus far.The second night Chuck, a local Vermont businessman offered shelter from the storm in his veterinary clinic.We gladly shared the roof with the overnight pups.Churches have also been very accommodating; our first night in New York we stayed in the First Baptist Church of Fair Haven.The trick is to send Carrie in looking tired; people so far have been very accommodating and helpful to our traveling cycling team.

Overnight at Chuck's veterinary clinic

Chatting with our evening suitemates

The riding itself shifted from busy and cluttered to hilly, pleasant, and remote.The ultimate goal was to leave Boston on bike paths and state highways until we met up with the Adventure Cycling Association Northern Tier Route in New York (we accomplished this on the fourth day).The Green and Adirondack Mountain have proved formidable foes to our fresh, untested legs – hills are hard!And we’ve had lots of them in Vermont and New York.

Attacking the hills

En route we get to play tourist from time to time as well.Just across Lake Champlain we spent some time at Fort Ticonderoga, brushing up on early American history from the French and Indian Wars to Benedict Arnold.We even met up with the parents of one of our fellow classmates from Chile on a similar bike tour – guess the cycling world isn’t all that large!

Brushing up on our history at Ft. Ticonderoga

Coming across our classmate's parents at the fort

We are currently cruising across Adirondack country in northern New York, taking in beautiful lakes and crossing paths with hilarious locals.This afternoon I was asking an older gentleman about the route to our evening destination and got this response: “You know, there didn’t used to be roads there...”I responded, “Oh really?” And just as serious as the original statement, he said: “Yeah… before 1929.”As I held back the urge to burst, I made sure to let him know that I was glad they finally got around to paving one.Needless to say, the 85 year old road got us there fine.It certainly is good to be back in the saddle again, and, fortunately, we have three more months of it!Stay tuned for updates from the other riders, plenty more photos, and stats from the ride.

Kellen SmetanaIt’s been almost three years since dunking into the Atlantic waves on the Portuguese coast with Bill, finishing the seven-month bicycle tour of Asia and Europe.At the time I thought that was possibly the first and last major cycling trip I would ever undertake; of course, I should have known much better… Tomorrow, Monday June 2, 2014, we are embarking on a bicycle journey across the US! You’re at it again… are you crazy?Maybe.But not because of all this biking.Most people I’ve shared this story with ask what it was like cycling nearly every day for months on end.It was awesome.And that’s why we’re back at it.On the surface, cycling offers a great pace to take in a country and interact with the people, hear the chatter of its small towns, smell the freshness of its forests, and marvel at the ambition of its mountains.And let’s not forget, it’s also one heck of a workout.On a deeper level, such a journey slows life down.As I mentioned in the last entry below, it gave me perspective on what I really needed to survive.It proves that all those little rotations of the pedal can add up to something big.It helped me make some of the strongest connections with the people with whom we interacted along the way.And finally, it was fun!A lot of fun. And so, we’re at it again. Once again, the trip will be a cast of characters all adding in for different segments.First, Cory just graduated from Michigan State and wants to take some time for adventure before he starts off into the real world.He will be joining me from Boston to Seattle – the whole shebang; his tube repair expertise from the Kazakh desert last trip should prove helpful in the crossing.Second, Carrie just graduated with me from Harvard Business School and is also returning to Deloitte Consulting.She has previously cycled across the US and will be our resident ACA map reader.She will be joining from Boston to Minneapolis.Third, Brandon is another fellow classmate from HBS who decided today that he would like to join us for the first three weeks until Buffalo or so.(I spent incredibly less time prepping for this tour versus the last, but one day is an amazing feat!)He has promised plenty of comedic relief to start our journey.Fourth, Theo has returned to writing in the UK but misses our days together on the bike in Central Asia.He is planning on joining for the last month of the trip from Jackson Hole to Seattle.And finally, I am also back on the bike again.I just graduated from business school and have some time before returning to work.Ever since starting the last journey across Asia and Europe it’s been a dream of mine to complete the circle of the globe.North American is the final leg of this, until I decide to tackle it vertically… For those of you new to the site or who haven’t visited in a while, Revolutions for Relief was the original name of our cycling adventure across Eurasia in 2011.We have decided to use the site to build in blogs, photos, maps, and stats from our most recent cycling journey across the US.Visit the Mission page for our planned route.Check out the Team page for more information about the cast of characters above.The Journal page will house a blog of our journal entries throughout the trip.We will most likely rotate entries among the team; the goal is to stick away from simple updates and instead post musings from the road, funny stories, or lessons picked up along the way.We will group photos by region and add albums to the Photo page periodically.The Donate page links to World Bicycle Relief, an organization I am passionate about that does a marvelous job using bicycles to help communities in need.Check it out to learn more.Finally, on the Stats page you will find a map of our GPS tracks and some fun overall statistics from the trip. I am excited to set out again tomorrow on this North American cycling adventure and expect many great stories from the days ahead.Hope to see you out on the road somewhere! PS - We have pretty good access to communication and we’d love to hear from you, so keep us updated as well while we’re riding.

Kellen Smetana I write this exactly three months after rolling up to the sandy Atlantic coast and realize it’s hardly time enough to reflect on the entirety of the cycling journey. Still, not an hour goes by that I don’t think of the experience and get lost for a moment in some fleeting memory of the endeavor. As I adjust to life back home (those of you who’ve seen me know my hair is taking slightly longer to adjust…), I have fielded innumerable questions about different aspects of the trip and have challenged myself to think deeply about the long-term impact of the experience. In these three months, fun categorizations and tangible assessments have gradually led to more pensive, profound thoughts as I try to grasp the life-changing nature of the endeavor and what this experience has meant for me.

It's easy to get lost here...

_ Such reflection starts with the inevitable, fun superlatives of favorite country, best meal, hardest day, funniest foreign word, and so on – and if you’ve seen the thoroughness of the Stats page, you may rightly guess that I already have an answer for each of these. As promised in the last post, I will at least share one: favorite country.

(Drumroll please…)

China!Yes, the place with pollution that made my nose run for days, drivers who ran us off the road without batting an eye, and a police state that seemed to frustrate us at every turn beat out heavenly Kyrgyzstan, eccentric Turkey, idyllic Croatia, and all the others. How? From bustling Hong Kong harbor to the Li River karsts, the densely populated Sichuan Basin to sky-scraping, snow-capped Tibetan mountains, and the Gobi Desert on through ethnically divided Urumqi – it was an adventure. With the exception of the US, no other nation comes close to approaching the same level of landscape diversity. So much of this great culture was previously unknown to me and I relished the adventure of exploring its food, language, and traditions. China is clearly a nation in flux, trying to harness and channel the power of its immense population and resources – the opportunity to observe even a sliver of this transformation was an incredible learning experience.

Pure adventure

_ As my thoughts float beyond the superlatives, I find myself assessing our progress against the two original goals of the endeavor. After all that, did we really have tangible impact with World Bicycle Relief and did we have a little fun in the process? The answer is a resounding Yes.

Together with everyone out there who donated and helped spread the message of World Bicycle Relief, we have had a hugely positive effect on the organization. Thanks to you, nearly 70 families so far have gained transportation that will change their lives for years. The bicycles that you helped provide open access to healthcare, school, markets, and even water in ways that greatly expand the economic possibilities for these families. Through our Revolutions for Relief trip, we showed just one great thing that can be done with our simple two-wheeled machines; just imagine the many great things these families will do with theirs. In working closely with World Bicycle Relief I saw how thankful each child was for the bicycle he or she received, and I wanted to pass on this powerful message to everyone out there. Thanks to all who donated and helped spread WBR’s message. We will continue to work with this great organization in the future, and I hope you do as well.

Thank you!

_ As for the fun? Well, I will simply direct you to the last 53 journal entries…

Tough to remember if it was any fun...

_ More recently, as my thoughts move beyond lists and goals into the slightly more philosophic realm, I like to ask myself the question, was it life-changing? Seven months is a long time – but it also isn’t. Assuming all goes to plan, it works out to roughly 0.5% of my life (the mathematically inclined may enjoy calculating my predicted life-span…). How am I different having gone through with this endeavor? What have I gained beyond sculpted leg muscles, an insatiable appetite, and the ability to fix flat tires in my sleep? In spite of my belittlement of the experience to a mere percentage – or rather half-percentage, I have decided that I am truly different, and the bicycle journey has given me three important things I will carry with me the rest of my life.

1. PerspectiveLike a sharp lens, the experience enhanced my perspective in several important ways. The first thing it taught me was to “think big.” As I jump around the website, it’s amazing to wonder at the butterfly effect of a couple “what if” conversations with friends two years ago that spawned such a huge project. I want to thank all those who encouraged us and were supportive along the way – especially my parents, who’ve put up with crazy ideas like this for 26 years. Even after we started cycling there were times when I feared that the size and risks may be too great for us to complete the endeavor, but we focused on our small goals and bit by bit we turned kilometers into continents. It’s funny to see that I have already started motivating myself to tackle new challenges in business and life with the reasoning, “Well, I did ride my bike across continents; so, this should be easy…” It’s a humorous perspective to take, but it’s been working so far and I suspect it will long into the future.

Ain't no mountain high enough

_ For seven months I lived out of the small bags attached to my bike. The thought of carrying even one more ounce over mountain passes taught me very quickly what I did and did not need. As strange as it may sound, I felt really cool moving from place to place with little more than the (dirty) shirt on my back. It was a chance to let blossom my basic hunter/gatherer instincts and gain perspective on how to be efficient with the little I had.

You learn which parts of the map you need

_ More literally, the journey has given me first-hand perspective in so many aspects of the other cultures we encountered. Throughout my life I have read articles and seen countless news pieces about things like military crack-downs in China, tensions in Azeri-Armenian relations, and the late social schedule of the Iberian Peninsula, but the experiences of getting blocked at Chinese military checkpoints, speaking with an Azeri veteran with two Armenian bullets lodged in his stomach, and sitting down to a 2am dinner with our Spanish hosts has shed whole new light on these and so many other things. I count myself very, very fortunate to have the opportunity for these experiences and hope that I can spread any cultural perspective gained to the benefit of others.

Sandbags add a new level to the understanding of a police state

_ 2. Adoration of HumanityThis adoration starts with some of my best friends and ends with some of my most passing acquaintances. My five Revolutions for Relief teammates have affected my character in ways they can only imagine.

Ben, you taught me everything I know about bicycle touring and are wise well beyond your years. The moment I read your email agreeing to meet me in Hong Kong is the moment I committed myself to the trip. Thanks for putting up with my learning curve and for getting me started on this wonderful adventure.

Theo, more than anyone else on the team you challenged me to think deeply. I loved our discussions on everything from metaphysics to Lady Gaga. You had me laughing from your Russian jokes in Bishkek to our final photos in Signaghi, and I fully credit your Cambridge rowing days to our blitzkrieg pace across the desert (that record will stand for a while). Thank you for waiting in Tashkent, I am lucky to have crossed paths with such a man.

Cory, being my little brother you probably had to put up with the worst of me. Your determined handling of the absolute beatdown we immediately put you through crossing the desert was inspirational. Thanks for getting me through my sickest days and for showing me how to handle the worst of what was thrown at us. Next time we bring Sweet B along.

Megan, your charm led us to meet some of the funniest characters of the trip. I’m ashamed to say that the sexist in me questioned whether you could handle the grueling physical nature of daily cycling, and I’m happy to report that you taught me an important lesson the moment you flew over the first hill. Thanks for always laughing and for reintroducing me to long-lost 80s pop songs.

Bill, I couldn’t think of a better person to cross Europe with. Trying to exhaust your library of trivia and extensive culinary knowledge made two months seem like two days. Much like the supply of Clif Bars and Five-Hour Energy’s you brought, your humor took an old, tired cyclist and made me feel like a kid riding his bike again. Thanks for getting us to the Atlantic.

The Brady Bunch

_ Even more than these amazing individuals, however, it was the seemingly insignificant encounters that gave me the greatest adoration for humanity. Bill did a fantastic job in his last post highlighting the kindness of people throughout the journey, and I must echo his sentiment. I am moved by the incredible humility people taught me day in and day out. Banished from local hotels by the Chinese police, we found refuge with a kind farmer who turned on the electricity of his home just so he could make us tea. In Central Asia, a region previously known to me only as the birthplace of James Bond villains, we went an entire month without using our tents as we were invited to stay in homes, restaurants, storefronts, and everything in between. Even in the biggest cities of Western Europe, we met people who housed and fed us and made the extra effort to show us a piece of their culture. More than any image of natural beauty from Hong Kong to Lisbon, the memory of the smile on the face of the melon vendor, fellow traveler, or tired farmer after helping us out makes my heart beat a little bit faster.

Who needs a tent when you can stay with us?

_ 3. MemoriesOk, Kellen, why state the obvious? Because it’s true. We could have chosen to help World Bicycle Relief in many different ways over the last seven months and our lives would have changed simply due to the increasing entropy of the universe. But I’m happy we chose to undertake this journey. Possibly more than any other period in my life I reflect on moments that make me smile, shudder, laugh, and cry. I hope it has been entertaining, educational, and even a bit inspirational; the team agrees that one of our favorite parts of the experience was using the website to share the ride with everyone back home. The site will remain up indefinitely to guard these memories and hopefully serve as an educational tool for anyone looking to start a similar project.

Memories that took us to Oz and back

_ In that moment of the hour when I lose myself in the fleeting memories of this journey, I often return to one in particular... Late afternoon in a wide green valley, I offer a wave to the host of giggling kids chasing us down the road and then another to their parents who look up from the neighboring field with an equally energetic smile. It reminds me of the beauty of this planet, the kindness of the people in it, and the goodwill we can spread through simple actions. Thanks for following along, these seven months have been one wild ride. We’ll let you know when we plan our next grand adventure.

Bill ConryIn the few weeks I’ve been back on American soil, I have fielded far more questions from my friends and family about the trip than I did prior to my departure. Whether it be the 20 lbs I shaved from my frame or my new facial hair style, the moment I run into somebody I haven’t seen since I shipped out they’re immediately reminded of the excursion in which I partook. After the typical wise cracks about my weight (one colleague went as far as to compare me to Jared from the Subway commercials), they’re quick to inquire about my experience. Most frequently I am asked, “How was it?” followed by a series of superlative queries such as, “What country had the best food? And “What was your scariest moment?”

While it’d be easy to respond that the trip was “good,” Greek food is second to no other and that my life flashed before my eyes when I nearly collided head on with a tour bus during a descent in France, I would not be doing the trip justice.You see, this trip shouldn’t be viewed as a series of separate countries and events, but instead one large expedition.Each hill I topped, each local I met, and each native dish I sampled had a synergistic effect on each another creating one epic journey, which dwarfs the sum of its parts.

Only when the thirteen countries through which I rode are juxtaposed with one another am I able to identify the overarching themes of the trip. Far and away the most intriguing and enjoyable aspect of the trip, consistent across all countries, was cycling through small towns that rarely see Americans and do not speak English. In contrast to visiting populous cities where tourism is common, I was able to garner a representative snapshot of what life is like in those particular towns and regions, which I found quite fascinating. Ninety nine percent of the villages and cities we stopped in I would have never visited in my lifetime had they not been part of my cycling route. I’m blessed to have had the opportunity to view firsthand how people live in those areas and immerse myself within their culture.

Not on your typical "must see" list

Not a bad place to pass through

Throughout the continent I found the edible aspects of culture to be the most interesting and eye opening. We primarily dined at cafes and restaurants off the beaten path where we had a monolingual waitress serve us traditional cuisine – it wasn’t possible to throw in the towel and have Dominos delivered or make a Taco Bell run. I came to realize that with the U.S. and cosmopolitan cities as the exceptions, it’s the norm in most parts of the world for the fare options to strictly align with the geography – in Italy you eat Italian, Albania it’s Albanian, etc. It was always an adventure to try to decipher menu items and attempt to ask questions about the dishes. More likely than not I’d wind up with a delicious meal – something I’ve never eaten before – which served to broaden my horizons from both cultural and culinary perspectives. I can’t wait to put on my chef hat and whip up some dishes from the road, there’s so many to choose from.

Wasn't Michelin starred, yet still delicious!

First time eating bull meat

Additionally, this trip caused me to buy into the notion that people are people no matter where in the world you are. Despite the thickness of the language barrier, the universal communication tactics of a smile or a wave were enough to have someone warm up to me. Just as my parents taught me at a young age, politeness and charm make people want to help you. Furthermore, the tour led me to believe that the world population consists primarily of upstanding citizens. Whether we were asking for directions, seeking leads on a campsite, or requesting a water refill, almost every person we encountered was willing to go above and beyond to assist us. They would not feel satisfied until we got our bearings, had an idea of where we should set up our tents or procured ample water. Random acts of kindness were so commonplace that by the end of the trip nothing fazed me. For instance, in Croatia a Japanese tourist gave me his bottle of cold water when I was on the verge of dehydration sickness and in Genoa the cleaning lady at our hotel chased me down the street as we were leaving with my camera case.

Moreover, throughout the entire trip I never once felt threatened by anyone.It’d be naïve of me to suggest that I was immune to crime, however we never had a run-in despite camping adjacent to major roads and leaving our bikes unattended from time to time.My faith in humanity has officially been restored!

Which way to Lisbon?

Glad we didn't have any unwanted visitors while camping in an abandoned house

Another question I’ve been fielding a lot is, “How does it feel to be back?” As I predicted, I have mixed feelings on continuing my sedentary lifestyle in the States. Sure it’s nice to have more than two t-shirt options while dressing myself, partake in a “football” conversation centered around Tom Brady not Cristiano Ronaldo, or order a coffee to go without getting strange looks, but part of me misses the constant action of my nomadic adventure. I never experienced boredom in my nine weeks on the road – it’s tough when every day welcomed fresh scenery, people, and challenges. While I certainly recognize the benefits of being settled, I’m already getting a bit antsy and may have to increase my road trip count for the coming year. Come to think of it my 2012 wedding schedule should fulfill that need.

Hard to be bored with sights like this

There are countless people to thank for helping me in numerous aspects of this trip; here’s a non-comprehensive list to start:

Friends, Family, Colleagues for their unwavering support of this trip before, during and afterward.I was quite apprehensive to hear the reactions when I told those close to me that I’m quitting my job to bike across a continent.It was encouraging that every single person I spoke with was behind me and supportive of the idea.Trevor and Charlie at Working Bikes Cooperative in Chicago for teaching me essential maintenance skills, without which I never would have made it across the continent.Joe, Evan and the rest of the REI Lincoln Park bike staff for their expertise, guidance and ability to answer so many dumb questions without becoming irritated.Everybody who donated to the World Bicycle Relief on our behalf.Kellen and Megan for putting up with my jokes throughout the trip and my illness spawned grumpiness for the length of the Dalmatian coast.Oh, and also being fun, adventurous, and generally awesome!Marcos, Patri, Paula, Alexandra, and Catarina for allowing us to crash with them in Zaragoza, Madrid, and Lisbon and being the most welcoming and accommodating hosts we could have asked for.Kellen and I agree that one of the most fun parts of the trip was staying with locals to capture how they really live.I don’t know how the Iberian Peninsula handles their social schedule…I’m still tired!

In closing, life’s too short to have regrets and while it’s easy to become complacent with the status quo I challenge you all to roll the dice and take a chance. You’re more likely to regret the actions you didn’t take versus the ones you did. No matter how daunting or ridiculous your ambition you should take a stab at it – you’ll be happy you did.

Our most sincere thanks goes out to our corporate sponsors for their magnanimous donations and discounts, which significantly lessened the financial burden of the trip.

The bars and shot gels from Clif Bar & Company provided us with the quick and hearty breakfasts our bodies commanded and the mid-day energy bursts required to survive the long days on the road. Additionally, the inspirational “Clif Stories” on the wrappers from founder Gary gave us relevant motivation to push through our forthcoming climbs.

Getting ready for the day

Giving us the energy to go that extra kilometer

The helmet and gloves from Giro gave us the protection, comfort, and style needed to cycle great distances.

Fits like a glove

The versatile and durable Buck Knife allowed us to cut anything – rope, vegetables, meat, excessive packaging – while also providing peace of mind from a protection standpoint when camping in the woods.

Perfect for Spanish cheeses

Our hefty supply of Five Hour Energy gave us the pick-me-up we needed at times throughout the day while never causing us to crash.

No crash in the Pyrenees

Again, we are forever grateful for the generosity of these organizations and hope that our readership considers them when in the market for these types of products.

Hundreds of them. Check out the new albums from Turkey to Portugal. Statistics have also been updated through the end of the trip. And be sure not to go anywhere, we still have lots more to upload: GPS tracks and blog posts and videos... oh my!

Kellen Smetana When we left Madrid all that remained was a six-day ride to Lisbon. To Lisbon!... To the Atlantic!... To THE END! Had we really arrived at the final week of riding? Throughout the trip, we always planned for the next destination: 8 days to Urumqi, 2 days to Bishkek, 3 days to Samarqand, 3 days to Zaragoza. This was the final destination. It was a strange feeling to know that there would be no other afterwards. No more cycling, no more traveling; only salt water, big smiles, and a cold beer.

It took three long days to speed ourselves out of Spain. The tail end of Spain included our longest riding day of Europe, yet more glorious sun-drenched Spanish weather, endless fields of olive trees, and enough cured meats to inspire fantasies about future grocery lists.

Glorious sun-drenched olive orchards

Already building grocery lists

Crossing the border to Portugal, one of the first conversations Bill and I had started something like this, “So, what is the deal with Portugal? I mean, what are they known for? Is it just a mini-Spain?” After a quick brainstorm, Bill contributed cork trees and I Port wine, and with that, we had ourselves a nice little stereotype for the country, removing its potential mini-Spain status. We had a good laugh at our naïve labeling but soon found the stereotypes to be strikingly true.

Oh no! Could it actually be the LAST country?

Not even an hour into the country, we began to see fields of odd-looking, numbered trees stretching to the horizon. Upon closer inspection, we realized that these trees had all been stripped of their bark and that this bark was actually an inch-thick layer of cork. We later discovered that the painted numbers coincided with how long ago the trees were stripped and that Portugal is very much known for their cork products: they hold 50% of the world’s cork trees and are responsible for 90% of cork processing.

Cork forest

That's some lightweight bark

On the second to last day, it was not so much cork that interested us, it was wine. All through Europe we passed vineyard after vineyard after vineyard: we photographed them and slept in them, sampled grapes and restaurant “vino de casa,” debated wine production, wine types, and wine psychology. But never did we stop in one to chat with the experts and tour the production facility to settle these discussions once and for all. For weeks it had been on our “to-do list” and it was certainly a lot to hope for, but we thought there was a chance we may get lucky.

Following a funny mix-up at an exclusive spa resort we thought was a vineyard, we did get lucky. We found a vineyard with a reception and small shop and after we explained our story, it turned out they were thrilled to show us around. Alberto, the master wine engineer for Vale do Chafariz vineyard, spent three hours with us touring the production, ageing, and packaging facilities, answering our incessant inquiries (at one point he even busted out hydrocarbon atomic formulas), and leading a private wine tasting that left us drunk into the evening. It was an absolute blast and a perfect cap to all of our wonderful “vinho” and vineyard experiences of the trip.

Waxing rhetoric about appropriate fermenting temperatures

Vale do Chafariz vineyard

Enjoying a nice glass of "vinho"

The next day we awoke with jittery anticipation. This was the day we would reach Lisbon and the Atlantic; this was the day all riding would come to an end. We planned it to be an easy, short ride into the city, but – as was a more appropriate end to the trip – it turned out to be much more of an adventure than we expected.

The beginning of the end

After fixing a final flat in the morning, we made it to one of the two bridges across the Tagus River into the city of Lisbon. As was always the case over the last seven months, we blew through the toll booth without batting an eye. This time, however, alarms rang and we thought we heard people shouting. Bill and I looked at each other questioningly: “Ahh, let’s just keep going,” we decided. “We’ll be in Lisbon before they even care.” Wrong. Not one kilometer later we were being escorted off the road by a tow-truck and police car. Apparently they didn’t want bicycles crossing the bridge. We played dumb and they were actually very nice while delivering the bad news that we had to ride 60km out of our way to a smaller bridge north of the city that would allow bicycles. Our easy day just got a lot harder.

Morning flat

Tow-truck that escorted us off the bridge (no photos of the police for obvious reasons)

The bridge we were supposed to take

We had to haul and haul we did: flying to the bridge, wolfing down lunch, and churning back towards Lisbon. Bill had a Skype date scheduled that evening, and we still had to make it to the city, swim in the ocean, and find the apartment of friends with whom we were staying. Late afternoon, we cut right across the heart of Lisbon and kept pedaling to the Atlantic. Fifteen kilometers later, we stopped at the edge of the sea.

Atlantic

October 21, 2011. 203 days, 16,497 kilometers, 3 bouts of food poisoning, 32 flat tires, and 53 dog chases after setting forth from Hong Kong (4,979km from Istanbul) we finally reached the Atlantic Ocean. It was the symbolic end to possibly the greatest adventure of my life. We both wore huge smiles and ran out into the water like little kids. I felt very proud for actually making it from sea to shining sea – Portugal certainly seems far when you’re navigating the jungles of Southeastern China. Standing on the rocks, watching the sun drop in a hazy sky out over the Atlantic is an image that will be forever burned in my mind as one of accomplishment. This was a moment I knew was coming and one I had thought about in one sense or another nearly every day for the last year; now it was one I will never forget. The bikes survived, we survived, and we had a little fun along the way. And the icing on the cake, as you may have seen in his comments to the Pyrenees blog post, is that we just “pipped” Central Asian partner and dear friend Theo, who cycled into his home in Norfolk, England on October 22 (beat you by one day, Mr. Brun… haha).

Victory!

Splashing into the sea like a giddy little kid

Happy campers

I don't think any future bike rides will be this long...

After an ocean-size photo shoot, we turned from the Atlantic back into Lisbon. In one hour we procured a map, ripped the map, borrowed cell phones, lost cycling gloves, crisscrossed Lisbon, and found our friend’s apartment with 15 minutes to spare for Bill’s scheduled call. (We're getting pretty good at this)

Borrowing phones to find our friends

After his Skype chat it was finally time to decompress. We were staying with a couple of girls Bill had met at the hostel in Istanbul while waiting for Cory and me to arrive. Bill and one of our hosts Alexandra had challenged each other to a race from Istanbul to Lisbon; she took a plane, we took our bikes. We lost, but it seemed to work out well because she was there waiting for us to arrive. Continuing the tradition of the Iberian Peninsula, they were absolutely wonderful hosts. We had our own room in the apartment and the first evening they invited us to a delicious Portuguese dinner they were hosting. We shared stories with this jovial, funny crew and celebrated the end to our trip late into the night.

Alexandra and Catarina host the gang

The next day we boxed up the bike, packed away the gear, and prepared for the arrival of Bill’s dad and brother. Sunday morning, Mr. Conry and Mike landed in Lisbon for a week vacation in the city. We quickly had them out and about, soaking in Lisbon’s sights under our first rainy sky since Italy. We toured the old castle, the main city squares, continually tested Mike on his impressive Portuguese skills, and even practiced the age-old wisdom of ordering another bottle of wine to outlast the storm. We had a great time together and though there was much more to do in this underrated city, we left it for Mr. Conry and Mike to tackle alone. It was time to head home.

Exceeds carry-on luggage dimensions

Exploring the castle

Statue in Praca do Comercio

Enjoying a wonderful last supper

Monday I flew home to the US, followed two days later by Bill. It was really over. The day I departed for Hong Kong I wrote that I was surprised to not be bouncing with excitement for the journey – we all know that changed quickly. But now that I was coming home I was not surprised at my melancholic mindset towards the fact that all that cycling was done. Even one week after touching the Atlantic it has not yet truly sunk in. It is weird not having to open a Michelin map and compass to navigate to my parent’s house, to wear shoes without metal cleats in the soles, and to have conversations over some fancy device called a cell phone. I’m sure it will take some adjusting.

Goodbye, Eurasia

The ride is over, but don’t worry, this is not the end of the blog, website, or anything! (We have plenty more to show and tell). Stay tuned in the coming weeks as we post thousands of photos, stats, videos, and other fun, relevant materials. And as the magnitude of the adventure we have just finished does begin to sink in, we will have plenty more to reflect upon and share (don’t you want to know which was my favorite country…?)

For now the simple mission statement Hong Kong to Lisbon. On a bike. has become past tense. And I am proud to say, it feels good.

As the grand adventure draws to a close, we want to bring attention once more to the World Bicycle Relief.

One of the main goals of the trip is to spread the power of bicycles to those who need it most by partnering with the WBR to raise awareness and help build bicycles for communities with desperate transportation needs. The World Bicycle Relief builds durable bicycles for disaster- and poverty-stricken communities, providing an enormous leap in productivity and access to healthcare, education, and economic development opportunities. From farmers carrying their tools to the fields in Guangdong Province, China to the incredible popularity of bike lanes in Saragossa, Spain, we have seen first-hand the efficiency and efficacy of bicycles every day over the last seven months.

We sincerely hope you have learned about this amazing organization through our website and theirs. The Revolutions for Relief journey was featured in a recent WBR Newsletter and it’s amazing to hear of the many thanks we receive from kids in Africa and Asia for our fundraising efforts.

We have done our best to keep the adventurous tales coming for all the readers to share in our journey and to show the amazing things that can be done with a simple bicycle. In return, we ask that you think about contributing to the World Bicycle Relief organization to help us achieve our goal of spreading this power to those who need it most. By donating $10, $25, $150… you will have an incredible impact on the lives of thousands of people around the world struggling to survive without adequate transportation.

Special thanks go out to all who have contributed over the course of the trip. For anyone who would like to learn more about the World Bicycle Relief and how you can help, please visit the Donate page of our website.

Bill ConryStill elevated from our Pyrenees climb, Kellen and I enjoyed a swift downhill into Spain ready to take on yet another country. To my astonishment, the country did not appear the way I had envisioned it based on my prior knowledge and one past trip to Barcelona. I thought somehow we had teleported to Arizona based upon the flat, arid geography and general openness of the region. The copious amounts of space in between towns gave us little option but to plan our meals based on our arrival in said towns.

Anyone out there? Oh, Kellen is.

Our first night in Spain we pedaled into a tiny village and asked a man on the street where we could find a restaurant. When the directions became complex and he grew sick of answering our questions he decided to have his eight year old son lead us there by bike. Although Megan the child magnet was not present, in an instant five additional neighborhood kids appeared ready to ride with us to the establishment. For ten minutes I was in 2nd grade again, riding bikes with a bunch of youngsters as the sun went down. Unfortunately, our destination turned out to be closed upon our arrival, so once we parted ways with our tour guides Kellen and I followed the noise to a nearby bar/restaurant to inquire about dining there.

I wasn't even riding my fastest

The language baton had been passed to me for Spain, and this was my first real skills test. I studied Spanish throughout high school and in my first semester at Michigan, however outside of ordering at Chipotle I had not spoken the language in eight years, so I anticipated my communicative abilities would be a bit lacking. And lacking they were – it took twelve townspeople and a combination of broken Spanish, French, and English for Kellen and I to explain that we would like to eat dinner there if possible. Part of the confusion was based on the timing of our conversation – 6:30 PM, which suddenly occurred to me is several hours before the traditional dinner time in Spain. With a combination of charm and what I could only imagine was the humor in the owner encountering the worst Spanish accent in his lifetime, we were able to have the kitchen open a bit early to fix us some tasty ham and cheese sandwiches before finding a nearby campsite for the night.

After a couple days in the hot, desert-like conditions we arrived in our first major city of the Iberian Peninsula, Zaragoza, where for the first time since Istanbul we were staying with locals. My Chicago friend Joe lived in Zaragoza for a few years growing up due to his father’s job in the automotive industry, and he was gracious enough to put me in touch with his friend Marcos, who was willing to take the risk in putting up some dirty American cyclists for a few days. The newlyweds Marcos and Patri welcomed us with open arms to their city by preparing a phenomenal meal of tortilla de patata, filling us in on the history and culture of the city, and even assisting me with my improving yet far from fluent Spanish.

Plaza de Pilar

Props to chef Marcos for a delicious traditional Spanish meal

Embracing the Spanish schedule the following day, Kellen and I went to a late lunch at a restaurant owned by Joe’s friend Eli and her family, which had come highly recommended. Eli’s uncle Oscar served us plate after plate of his personal tapas selections – lomo, fois gras, salmon tartar, prosciutto stuffed artichokes – it was all phenomenal. When Eli arrived at the restaurant we chatted for hours over regional wine and Hierbas liqueur about the skyrocketing popularity of gin and tonics in Spain across the past for years, how only tourists drink Sangria, and Oscar’s affinity with Michael Jordan. Once we finished our coffees and walked towards the tram I realized it was already 8pm and commented to Kellen that hands down this is the latest I’ve ever left lunch in my life.

Oscar keeps an MJ poster on hand in his restaurant

Dinner time by American standards...time to finish lunch.

We lucked out with our timing because we happened to be there on the eve of Pilar, a holiday honoring the female patron saint of Spain. Pilar is the biggest day of the year in Zaragoza and the whole town shuts down for the parades, music, and flower tossing in the main square. Although it was a Tuesday night, nobody had work on Wednesday and therefore it was a popular night to hit the town. When we arrived back at the apartment Marcos told us we were going to make a batch of sangria and head to his neighbor Marta’s apartment for dinner and drinks before going out to a nearby carnival. Kellen and I cracked up because we engaged in a similar sangria conversation with Marcos the previous night and we assumed the sangria was being prepared to entertain us American tourists. He insisted that that was not the case, sangria was a great call given the context of the night. Either way the sweet, fruity red wine he prepared was delicious and authentic.

The crew and our touristy drinks before heading out for the Pilar carnival

We're such locals it kills us

Keeping up with Spanish time we went out well after my Chicago bedtime to a nearby carnival where we met up with thousands of other young people at the music tents. Despite missing Bob Sinclair’s performance earlier in the evening, Love Generation was out in full force for a fun night!

As multiple people predicted, our Spanish schedule delayed our departure the next day as we headed towards Madrid after receiving some helpful route guidance from Marcos. The Arizona-type conditions continued as we pedaled southwest and the land grew even more desolate than what we experienced at the start of the country. It was imperative to strategically plan out our mealtimes and water acquisitions given that we were only passing through a handful of towns a day. One day we were starving around 2pm and decided to see what lunch options were available in the small village of Embid. Throughout both Eastern and Western Europe, Kellen and I have encountered countless “ghost towns” as we call them – small cities that appear abandoned: no people, no cars, and no open stores, almost like an eerie film set. On the surface, Embid had ghost town written all over it, but our stomachs urged us to check it out anyway.

Real city or film set?

We rolled up to a bar where we came across three gentlemen drinking Estrellas. I asked about food and they informed me that not only did they not have a kitchen, but there were no restaurants or grocery stores in the little town of 26 denizens and that we needed to travel 8km down the road to the next town. As we walked towards the exit with our heads down and stomachs growling, one of the patrons said “queires una cerveza?” My Spanish might not be perfect, but no matter the language I know when somebody is offering me a beer. We joined our new friend Manuel for a round as we discussed our trip, the hot weather, and how dinner time in France is insanely early. English is not an option in these small towns, so the exchange was exclusively in Spanish and my listening comprehension is not 100% accurate, so Manuel might have a different account of the chat but that’s at least what I think we were talking about.

Great chat Manuel!

Eight kilometers down the road in the next village we encountered a very similar scenario and were informed by an elderly couple that we needed to travel another 15km to find food. All in all we had to cover 60km from the town at which we ate breakfast to where we ate lunch. Can you imagine having to travel that far to find food of any sort? This really put things in perspective coming from a guy who was devastated to learn that there are no Outback Steakhouses within the city limits of Chicago.

With the drop of a hat the terrain transitioned from open and barren to mountainous and green. We welcomed the new scenery and the close encounters with wildlife that came with it. We braved some of the steepest grades we have seen all trip as we continued towards Madrid. One morning I woke up shivering to frost on my panniers and checked my thermometer to discover it was 38 degrees. Kellen and I bundled up as much as we could but threw in the towel and warmed up with coffee and toast in a nearby lodge after a few kilometers – the wind chill was that bad. Throughout the day I peeled down my layers and by the time the clock struck 4pm I was as dripping in sweat under the hot sun. The thermometer this time read 82 degrees –a 44 degree temperature swing in one day!

Dangerously steep

I had an ace up my sleeve to combat the extreme temperatures and challenging terrain: custom made trail mix. Unsatisfied with the packaged trail mix offerings in grocery stores, I decided to hand craft my own using a proprietary blend of nuts, dried fruit, chocolate, and the kicker: gummy bears. The novel concept was met by skepticism from Kellen, however he came around after just one handful of my creation.

Does trail mix count as a performance enhancing drug? Made climbs a breeze.

Fueled by our trail mix energy we arrived in Madrid after some marathon days and 60km on a major highway excited to tour the capital city. Joe put me in touch with his friend Paula who was kind enough to allow us to crash at her apartment in the center of town for the night. Paula and her boyfriend Carlos gave Marcos and Patri a run for their money for the “best host” award by guiding us on a lovely and efficient walking tour of the city upon our arrival. We toured Plaza Mayor and Palacio Real and even passed through thousands of protestors marching in Puerta del Sol before heading over to her friend Bea’s apartment for a wine tasting birthday party.

Great tour guides

Protests are not just in America these days

The wine was delectable, the cheese was delicious, but what made the night was the jamon iberico. The cured pork product native to Spain instantly shot to the top of my new favorite foods list (which has seen constant movement throughout this trip) as I indulged in the thin slices throughout the night. Bea went all out and purchased a full leg, which she deftly carved with a sharp knife. Enamored by everything related to jamon iberico, Bea graciously offered to teach me how to cut it. Carving a piece of meat of this nature is more of an art than anything, and it certainly takes practice, but after a few misshaped slices I found my rhythm and churned out some of impeccable slivers.

Look at that slicing prowess

We could have hung around Madrid for days eating ham, but sadly after just one night in the city it was time to move on as we had more ghost towns to scour and more favorite foods to uncover as we continued our push across the Iberian Penninsula.

BEARD WATCH

Welcome to the jungle. The scruff has become scruffier and even more fiery since the last update. It just occured to me that the red beard makes perfect sense. My younger brother Mikey, who has similar head hair to me, has exclusively grown big reds across his beard career. Beard geneticists maintain that the beard genes come from your younger brother, so that explains everything! Is it possible to alter the gene pool? We'll see...